


I Like It Like That

by every9seconds



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dancing, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/every9seconds/pseuds/every9seconds
Summary: It's July, it's fucking hot, it's Mickey and Ian's 6 month anniversary...and things are about to get even hotter.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 29
Kudos: 177





	I Like It Like That

Mickey stares into the sparse closet for a moment, then glances at the clock on the nightstand. 9:15. Fuck, it was getting late. He hitches up the loose towel around his waist, body still damp from his quick shower. He has to make a decision fast before the floor gets any wetter. What the fuck to wear?

He tilts his head back and hollers out, “Ian!” No response. “Hey, IAN!”

A moment later he hears footsteps bounding up the back staircase and Mickey turns around just in time to see the vinyl room divider peel open.

“Yeah?” Ian’s head pokes in past the threshold and his gaze immediately lands on Mickey standing in the corner. “Oh,” Ian breathes, as he rakes his eyes over Mickey’s state of undress. He quickly pulls the divider closed behind him on its rickety track, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slowly struts over towards Mickey.

“That’s what you’re wearing tonight?” Mickey questions disbelievingly, taking a good look at his husband and letting his arched brows creep higher and higher up his forehead. “For our anniversary?”

Ian stops in place, spreading his hands out to his sides and looking affronted.

“What? I want to be comfortable,” he defends, giving a quick spin for Mickey’s approval. He’s wearing a stripped, short-sleeved button-up shirt, fitted jean shorts and white sneakers, casual as fuck but still a stud in Mickey’s eyes. “And if you haven’t noticed,” Ian continues, “it’s still like a hundred fucking degrees outside.”

“Yeah well, help me pick out something to wear then, hot shot.” Mickey turns to face the closet again, his options looking pretty bleak. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going, anyway.”

He feels Ian’s body press up behind him, long arms wrapping around his bare torso.

“You’ll look good wearing anything, Mick,” Ian responds, voice low and sounding achingly sincere. He rests his chin on the crook of Mickey’s neck, rubbing the rough bristle of his stubble against the sensitive skin of Mickey’s nape. Mickey shudders. He fucking loves when Ian does that, and he can’t help but press back into Ian’s hard chest when he starts swaying their bodies side to side. “And...it’s a surprise,” Ian finishes, whispering seductively into his ear. He takes the soft flesh of Mickey’s earlobe between his teeth and gives it a nibble for good measure.

Mickey lets his eyes flutter closed as the towel wrapped around his waist falls to the ground between them with a muffled thud. Mickey feels completely exposed as his still damp skin tingles with excitement. After all this time, Mickey muses to himself, Ian can still make his limbs turn to jelly in an instant. He tilts his head back even more as Ian continues to nuzzle at him, enjoying each sensation it brings.

The rough calloused hands around his torso start to travel down past his navel. Mickey’s breath hitches as one exploring hand pauses to let long fingers curl around the patch of dark hair at his groin before proceeding further. He feels Ian hover briefly over his hardening dick, teasing him, right before maneuvering around it to cup Mickey’s balls instead. Ian kneads at them gently, testing their weight.

“If you keep doing that,” Mickey chokes out breathlessly, “we ain’t making it nowhere tonight,” he promises. At this point he really doesn’t care what Ian has planned. He is perfectly fine with the path they are heading down right now.

Ian gives his heavy balls one last playful tug before releasing him all at once. In a flash he reaches out towards the small closet, pushing Mickey behind him and causing his head to spin at the sudden change in direction.

With swift decisiveness Ian picks out a few items and just as quickly turns back around, playfully shoving the clothes against Mickey’s chest. “Here, wear this,” he orders matter-of-factly before grabbing Mickey by the neck and pulling him in for a quick, hard kiss. Mickey barely has time to react before Ian is pulling away again. “Meet me outside in twenty…and hurry up, it’s getting late.” Ian releases him and gives him a firm smack on the ass before making his way towards the door, a happy little jaunt in his stride.

Mickey watches his husband walk away, a little stunned at how everything just played out. Still, that doesn’t stop the big cheesy grin from forming on his face, and for once he’s almost disappointed there’s no one else around to see it.

***

Mickey sits on the bottom of the stoop out front of the Gallagher house, waiting for Ian. Fucker tells him to hurry and yet he’s still the one sitting around with his dick in his hand. It’s hot as balls outside, even this late at night, and the humidity clinging to him only makes it worse. He lights a cigarette and waits, the curling smoke billowing around his head not improving his sweltering condition in the least, but fuck it.

For a second he considers running back inside real quick to change into the single pair of shorts he owns, but ultimately decides against it when he thinks about how stupid his pale legs would look, even next to Ian’s long white pegs. Ian had chosen his slimmest fitting dark jeans and a black V-neck tee for him to wear tonight. Mickey had already rolled up the short sleeves to give his pits some air, improving the look of the outfit altogether in his opinion.

“The fuck are you, Ian?” Mickey grumbles, his impatience starting to get the better of him. He’s just decided that if Ian doesn’t appear in the next two minutes he’s going to head back inside and call the whole damn thing off, when in the distance he sees a car with bright headlights round the corner and speed recklessly down the street. He gets up from the stoop, curiously making his way towards the fence to get a closer look. A small cherry red Fiat skids to a halt right in front of the house and the driver of the vaguely familiar-looking car honks the horn twice, its high unpleasant beep making Mickey wince as it echoes through the neighborhood.

He sees Ian’s flaming red hair first as he exits from the driver’s side of the car, a big goofy smile stretched across his face as he turns towards Mickey. Ian is easily two feet taller than the car and Mickey watches incredulously as he bends over the roof and playfully strokes the glossy red paint with his hands.

“Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. The hell is that?” Mickey grouses, staring unbelieving at the little thing. He crosses the gate to get a better look.

“Why, it’s our transport for the evening,” Ian answers smoothly as he walks over to the passenger side near Mickey. “Tami said I could borrow it for the night if I watch Freddie for her next week.”

“That’s the gayest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Then it’s perfect for us,” Ian replies sweetly, giving him a disarmingly charming smile. Mickey scoffs but can’t help grinning back as Ian holds the passenger door open for him.

He’s about to get in when Ian suddenly reaches towards him and plucks the cigarette from his mouth, flicking it away.

“Ey!”

“Sorry, one of Tami’s rules she laid out before she even let me near the car. No smoking. She doesn’t want her car to reek or have the baby smelling like an old ashtray.”

Mickey rolls his eyes while peeking through the back window of the car. There is a baby seat still strapped in directly behind the passenger’s seat and a shit ton of other baby paraphernalia strewn all about. “Jesus,” he curses aloud before turning to Ian and fixing him with a pointed look. “We need to get our own set of wheels, pronto,” he says decisively before ducking into the car.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ian sighs as he closes the door behind him.

When Ian settles back into the driver’s seat next to him, Mickey is fiddling with the radio trying to find some good tunes for the ride. He expects Ian to head out immediately but when nothing happens he looks over to see what the hold up is.

He finds Ian just sitting there, watching him. The interior of the car is dim but Mickey can still make out Ian’s left hand resting gently on the wheel while the other grips the gear stick between them. The cool blue light from the dashboard display sharpens all of Ian’s features and gives him this radiant sort of glow. Mickey can’t help but think how fucking beautiful he is.

“What?” he asks nervously, still not used to the sort of open adoration his husband showers on him every day.

“Nothing,” Ian says, moving his hand from the clutch to Mickey’s knee. Mickey just continues to stare into his earnest face, spellbound. “I’m just really happy, you know?”

Yeah, he knows.

Ian leans in across the center console and Mickey breaks out of his daze to meet him halfway for a chaste kiss, swooning briefly at this spontaneous declaration of love.

_Jesus, get a grip!_

Mickey sniffs and pulls back, stifling his smile with only partial success. He needs to butch things up before they truly become a couple of emotional queens.

“Alright, Romeo,” Mickey grumbles, reaching over to blast the air conditioning, hoping to cool off from the July heat and from Ian’s unprompted advances, “enough of the mushy stuff. Let’s get this show on the road before anyone around here sees me sittin’ in this fuckin’ clown car.”

***

Mickey practically springs from the vehicle, a cigarette already in his mouth, before Ian even has time to put the car into park. They had somehow found a pretty decent parking spot even though the streets were packed with cars and throngs of people. The one advantage of driving around in a tiny ass toy car, Mickey supposes.

He cups the cigarette and lights it before looking up ahead and really taking in the scene. Mickey exhales an impressive cloud of smoke at the same time he lets out a long, low whistle. “We definitely ain’t in the South Side anymore,” he says mostly to himself before moving aside to make room for a noisy couple trying to pass behind him.

Ian reaches the sidewalk and closes in beside him, meeting his gaze. Not two blocks away stands a giant metal sculpture of the Puerto Rican flag stretching across the entire width of Division Street, four lanes wide. It has to be at least six stories tall.

“Welcome to the West Side of Chicago,” Ian shrugs nonchalantly and begins to lead Mickey towards the imposing structure.

Latin music pours out into the streets from almost every restaurant, club, and corner store they pass as they walk together, bumping shoulders and silently passing Mickey’s cigarette back and forth between them until it’s smoked down to the filter. The cacophony is electrifying to Mickey as they push their way through the busy sidewalk. There’s a shit-ton of people out tonight, he thinks, even for a Saturday.

As Mickey awkwardly sidesteps the many pedestrians squeezing around him, he begins to notice one glaringly obvious trend. There seems to be a disproportionate number of good-looking individuals out here tonight. He thinks this as he side-eyes a group of scantily clad girls laughing loudly as they pass him by.

“What the hell are we doing in Humboldt Park?” Mickey finally gets to ask Ian once they’ve made it to a less congested part of Paseo Boricua.

“You’ll see,” he replies evasively, his hand lingering on Mickey’s lower back as he directs him across the street.

A short while later they end up in front of a tall white building with a line of people stretching around the corner to get in. 

“You got to be kidding me,” Mickey bitches loudly.

Ian ignores him, simply grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him along as he heads towards the front of the line where a tall, swarthy man with a shaved head is blocking the entrance. To Mickey’s surprise, Ian leans forward, catching the man’s ear. Mickey can’t hear a single word Ian is saying over the loud music and the general hubbub of the people waiting to get inside, so he leans back, wrist still caught in Ian’s giant mitt, and tilts his head up to try and catch the name of the place. The bright neon sign flashing high above the door nearly blinds him, but before he can make anything out, he feels Ian tugging at him again, ushering him inside.

“How in the hell did you manage–” Mickey cuts himself off halfway, not sure if Ian can hear him over the loud music anyway.

Ian looks back at him excitedly, catching the confusion on his face as they make their way inside.

“Someone owed me a favor,” Ian yells back at him in answer.

Mickey immediately starts running a mental checklist, trying to call to mind everyone Ian knows who could possibly “owe him one”, and jealously wonders what for.

Mickey is still mulling it over when a pretty, olive-skinned Latina in a black A-line halter dress and towering heels meets them at the end of the entrance hall. She gives them a courteous smile as Ian approaches her and gives her his name.

Mickey steals a glance behind the hostess and sees an enormous open-terrace dance floor covered in string lights. Beneath the hanging lights, swarms of couples dance to a fast-paced salsa song currently blasting through large floor speakers. Mickey fidgets apprehensively, this wasn’t exactly his scene. 

The pretty host gestures for them to follow her and, to Mickey’s relief, finds that she is leading them to the other side of the club, into a very crowded restaurant. She seats them at an intimate table for two, and removes the “reserved” sign from the little round tabletop.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” she tells them with a wink of her almond-shaped eyes before she makes her way back through the crowded floor.

She initially sat them across from each other, but Ian, ever the romantic, scoots his chair all the way around the table so that they sit side by side. Mickey watches on in silence as Ian casually puts an arm around his chair and picks up a menu.

“I thought we’d grab a bite to eat first,” he says, his voice easily carrying over the buzz of the club now that they are much closer.

Mickey stares incredulously at Ian’s profile as he studies the menu, feeling the weight of Ian’s arm around his back and the heat of his leg pressed right up against his own. His man has balls, he’ll give him that. Still, Mickey finds himself leaning forward slightly in his chair, wringing his hands on the table nervously while shooting surreptitious glances around the room. He is a little unsure about the level of intimacy they’re showing in such a foreign place. This ain’t exactly The Alibi where everyone already knows them.

He glances around again, noting the fun and vibrant atmosphere of the place. The room is large with white-washed walls, and every few feet or so he spots a different bright neon sign, bathing the patrons underneath in a variety of colorful hues. He can see tables and booths packed with all sorts of people, laughing and yammering away with drinks in their hands. But no one seems to notice them. Or quite possibly, no one cares. He really should be used to this by now. He and Ian are fucking married, after all, and if anyone has a problem with that they can just fuck right off.

Still, he is a bit jealous at how naturally it all comes to Ian, and a little annoyed that he can’t seem to stop wringing his hands.

Suddenly Ian is moving his arm from around the back of Mickey’s chair, instead placing his hand on top Mickey’s own, stilling his nervous tick.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he reassures to him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

It’s just like Ian to immediately pick up on his feelings and know when he’s uncomfortable in an unfamiliar place. It’s one of the many things Mickey loves about him. He smiles bashfully and watches as Ian gently strokes his hand, enjoying the feel of his calloused thumb as it lazily plays with the white gold band on Mickey’s ring finger.

He meets Ian’s gaze.

“You’re something else. You know that?”

Ian’s face melts into a soft smile just before they both notice a handsome young waiter with dark, slicked back hair making his way over to their table. He’s wearing tight black pants and a matching polo shirt that showcases a pair of impressive biceps. He looks a little preoccupied as he tries to avoid the mass of people making their way through the room, but eventually he leans over their table in an effort to be heard and says to them, “Kitchen closes in thirty, guys, can I get you anything?”

Mickey hasn’t even had a chance to glance at his menu and he slightly panics when he does. It’s entirely in Spanish. Thankfully Ian saves him before he even has the chance to make an ass of himself, confidently ordering for the both of them.

“We’ll split the lechon y arroz con gandules platter, with a side of platanos, please. Oh, and two piña coladas.”

“Got you,” the waiter affirms, scribbling down the order and turning away in a blink.

Ian tilts his head a bit as he watches him dart away. “Hmm,” he hums playfully, “that’s a nice ass.”

Mickey’s mood turns instantly. He knows it was just meant to tease him, but he still can’t stop himself from taking the bait.

“Hey Rico Suave, eyes over here,” he quips as Ian turns to smirk at him. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m watching you, asshole,” he snarks, eyeballing him. “And how the hell did you know what to order? You been taking your other husband out to Latin nightclubs without me?” 

Ian laughs hysterically at this. “I’ll never tell...”

“The fuck you won’t,” he feigns outrage. “Till death do us part, motherfucker, and you sure as shit ain’t dead.”

Ian keeps smiling even as he rolls his eyes at Mickey’s little tantrum, finally acquiescing.

“I have a friend that used to perform here. She recommended that particular dish,” he explains, fixing Mickey with a pointed look. “And no, I don’t have a secret brother-husband for you…no matter how hot that kind of sounds,” Ian adds with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows.

Mickey sizes him up for another moment before accepting Ian’s answer and allowing the joke. He changes course as his mood settles.

“Well as long as you didn’t order any fucking tamales...” 

After spending over a year eating shitty food while working for the Mexican cartel, and then having Carl’s little sidepiece stock the Gallagher freezer with a year’s worth of the fucking things, Mickey thinks he’d rather starve than have to taste another mouthful of masa ever again.

“Jesus, Mickey, tamales are Mexican.”

“Yeah, so?”

Ian gestures vaguely at their surroundings. “So Puerto Rico is an island in the Caribbean. You know, one of those things surrounded on all sides by water? Big water. Ocean water,” Ian mocks using his best presidential voice. “We’re in a Caribbean restaurant.”

“So what, you a native now?” Mickey scoffs, brushing off his own faux pas as Ian rolls his eyes again.

The handsome waiter returns just then, not giving Ian a chance to further their little argument. He quickly sets down two tall, frosty piña coladas with little pineapple wedges on their rims and disappears again.

“Here,” Ian hands Mickey a glass, changing the subject, “I thought these might help you cool off.”

He takes the fruity-looking drink from Ian, eying it suspiciously. But he is feeling a little parched in this crowded room, and the heat definitely hasn’t let up.

“Fuck it,” Mickey shrugs and lifts his glass. “Cheers.”

“To us,” Ian adds.

“To fucking us,” Mickey repeats, clinking their glasses together before taking a tentative sip from his own. His eyes light up as the strong, tropical drink hits his tongue. _Not fucking bad. Not bad at all._ He tosses the little straw away and takes a big gulp this time, working his throat as he lets the cool slushy cocktail travel down his gullet.

“Careful, you’ll give yourself brain-freeze,” Ian warns, eyes fixed on Mickey while sipping his own drink at a much more leisurely pace, seemingly content to sit back and enjoy his view.

Mickey can’t help smacking his lips at the tasty drink, already half gone, before he responds. 

“Ey, I don’t tell you how to drink anymore, so don’t go telling me how to either,” he quips back. “But yeah, we’re going to need another round of these.”

“They’re stronger than you think...” Ian trails off.

Mickey just gives him a scathing look and Ian chuckles.

They chat for a bit while Ian nurses his drink, observing the colorful characters all around them. Mickey pretty quickly decides that he likes the place. They play all types of current music, but mostly Latin artists. Some he recognizes, others he doesn’t. After a while he starts tapping his feet to the beat as he feels a comfortable buzz coming on; the hunky waiter has been stealthily refreshing their drinks without being asked and Mickey sips more carefully now, just enjoying the taste.

He looks to Ian, who also seems to be enjoying himself just as much. Mickey must really be buzzing because he can’t help but think how cute Ian looks in his little striped shirt just now. In this whole place, filled with hundreds of young, very attractive people of every flavor, Mickey still only has eyes for his husband.

Ian catches him looking and tilts his head slightly to meet Mickey’s gaze, a strand of hair falling out of place in the process. Ian carelessly rakes it back with his fingertips. He’s been parting his hair to the side recently so that a little wave forms, Mickey notices.

“What?” he asks, a small smile playing around on his lips.

“Nothing,” Mickey pivots, bringing his eyes down to sip his drink. It’s almost empty again. Fuck, well that was fast. These _were_ getting dangerous.

Ian doesn’t miss a thing, reaching over towards Mickey’s empty glass to pluck the pineapple from the rim.

“Ey, that’s mine.”

“Tough shit,” Ian says right before he places the fruit between his lips and sucks.

Mickey’s eyes immediately lock onto his husband’s mouth, mesmerized by the simple but no less sexually-charged gesture. Ian clearly knows how easily Mickey is affected after a few drinks, and makes a real show out of it as he slowly sucks the juice from the yellow flesh. Mickey notices a tiny dribble of juice and saliva spill onto Ian’s chin as his lips reach the rind and his brain short-circuits a little.

“C’mere,” Ian mumbles, slowly pulling the piece of fruit from his mouth.

“What?” Mickey says more out of dazed confusion than not being able to hear.

“I said, come here,” he repeats a little more forcefully this time, letting the drained pineapple wedge fall to the table.

Mickey leans towards him, his confusion only intensifying. They're sitting only a foot away from each other, after all.

Without warning Ian grabs the neck of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

Mickey can instantly taste the syrupy sweetness of the pineapple on Ian’s lips. It’s so startling and so intoxicating that, without thinking, Mickey lets his tongue slip out to deepen the kiss, desperate to taste more of that delicious juice on Ian.

Ian seems delighted by Mickey’s fervent response and reciprocates with equal enthusiasm, letting his own tongue slip out to meet Mickey’s, igniting a fire deep in the pit of Mickey’s stomach.

The clang of platters being deposited on their table interrupts them, and Mickey literally jumps an inch from his seat. He breaks away from Ian and looks up to see Mr. Handsome Waiter grinning slyly at them as he places the last plate on the table.

“Enjoy, boys.”

“Yeah, um...thanks,” Mickey mutters, feeling his face flush. He also feels a sticky wetness all over his mouth and quickly uses the back of his hand to wipe away any evidence of it. He sees Ian out of the corner of his eye just grinning like a doofus, apparently amused by the whole situation.

The waiter leaves them to their meal and Mickey relaxes again.

“Let’s dig in,” Ian says, rubbing his hands together over the steaming plates.

***

Now, Mickey knows he isn’t exactly a picky eater to begin with, but _damn_ , turns out Puerto Rican food is just on an entirely different level. He ate the majority of the shared platters between them, especially enjoying the plantains and their fried sweetness. He was sure to leave one or two for Ian to snack on though, out of sympathy.

But plates now cleaned and cleared, Ian wants to head over to the bar and Mickey is too happy and satiated to put up any kind of fight. Ian leaves some cash on the table to cover the bill and enough for a tip and they make their way towards the center of club.

A large bar separates the restaurant from the main dance floor and Mickey lets Ian decide where to sit, or rather stand, as it’s even more crowded over here than where they just came from. After being jostled around a bit, Mickey is just starting to think they should have stayed put at their table when Ian gets lucky and spots a couple paying their tab. He quickly maneuvers to claim their stools near the end of the bar, closest to the terraced dance floor.

Hard part accomplished, they sit and attempt to get the attention of one of the bartenders who are all bouncing around, frantically making drinks.

A severe looking woman with a high ponytail eventually nears their corner, and without looking up from the drink she is furiously mixing in a cocktail shaker, she flicks her head in Ian’s direction. Ian takes the cue immediately and leans over the counter.

“Six shots of Patrón, please.” The woman nods her head, accepting the order, while Mickey’s eyebrows skyrocket up towards his hairline. “I figured we’d stock up,” Ian responds to Mickey’s questioning look, “we may not see her again for a while.” 

The bartender promptly produces six shot glasses and places them in a row in front of them. She uncorks a fat glass bottle and pours the amber liquid with practiced ease, neatly filling each glass in quick succession. A black pad with their check on it is discreetly pushed in their direction a moment later.

Mickey decides he better chip in on paying for tonight’s festivities and quickly grabs the bill. His eyes bulge when he sees the amount.

“What the fuck, Ian! We could have bought a whole bottle of this at the neighborhood corner store for the same price,” he glares up at him.

“Don’t exaggerate, Mickey. No we couldn’t,” Ian rebuffs as he attempts to give Mickey some cash.

“Well, maybe a bottle of the cheap shit…” he mumbles, brushing off Ian’s hand and reaching for his wallet. “Just don’t let Kev and V know the prices this place is charging. I don’t need to be ripped off at home too.”

“Come on, Mick, it’s our anniversary,” Ian fake pouts, leaning an elbow on the bar and giving him the puppy eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey drops some bills into the black billfold and hands it back to the bartender who just happens to breeze by at that moment.

“It’s our anniversary!” Ian says again with a huge grin, this time to the bartender as she takes the billfold from Mickey. For the first time she actually looks up at them, her frantic pace slowing for just a moment. Ian leans in and clutches Mickey’s free hand where it rests on the bar, squeezing it just a bit while giving him that adoring look of his.

Mickey glances up at the woman and actually thinks he sees her face soften for a split second, maybe a small peek of a smile, before she whizzes away again.

“So what, you gonna tell every stranger who’ll listen why we’re here?”

“Maybe,” Ian answers happily while releasing Mickey’s hand to grab a shot glass. Mickey scoots his barstool closer to Ian’s and grabs a shot of his own to toast with. “Happy anniversary,” Ian says, turning to lock eyes with Mickey, their knees so close that their legs naturally intertwine.

“Happy anniversary, babe.” Mickey lets the rare endearment drop, knowing how much Ian loves that shit.

The liquor goes down smooth after that.

***

By their last shot they are both more than a little tipsy, Ian quickly catching up to Mickey after having had far fewer drinks with dinner. This is made clearly evident to Mickey when Ian somehow finds a way to carelessly lean back against Mickey’s chest while still miraculously managing to sit perched on his own stool. Mickey brings a discreet arm around Ian’s waist just to make sure he doesn’t slip off.

They’re facing away from the bar now, watching the crowd of dancers twist and turn under the twinkling lights of the open terrace. One young woman in particular seems to have caught Ian’s attention.

“Wow, she’s really good.”

“Hmm?” Mickey hums, focusing his attention on where Ian is looking. “Oh yeah, she is,” he agrees, his chin brushing against the side of Ian’s head, the wavy red strands tickling his skin in a pleasant sort of way.

To say she’s gorgeous would probably be a bit of an understatement, Mickey thinks – even his gay ass can admit that. She is a vision in brown loose curls, expertly tossing her hair to and fro, rebuffing any suitors attempting to close in for a dance. Her bright red, heart-shaped corset top clings to her bronzed skin, just barely covering her ample chest while revealing just the barest glimpse of midriff above a pair of frayed denim short shorts.

When she finally does pick a lucky dance partner, her killer moves easily outshine the poor guy effortlessly. She gives the whole room a dazzling smile as her dance partner twirls her over and over, her curvy hips swaying energetically in time to the fast-paced music.

Ian leans even further back against him and Mickey instinctively tightens his hold around his narrow hips. “She’s fucking hot!” Ian announces, none too quietly

“Calm down there, Sparky,” Mickey scolds, even as he too, like most of the bar, continues to watch the impromptu show. He feels Ian start to move his shoulders against his chest to the vibrant Latin beat, and he looks curiously down at him. No way is this fucker thinking what Mickey thinks he’s thinking.

Ian suddenly breaks from Mickey’s hold and hops up from his stool, turning to him and pulling at his arms for him to get up.

“Come on, let’s dance!” Ian says excitedly, confirming all of Mickey’s worst fears.

Mickey doesn’t budge. Not one inch. He instead attempts to deflect, in hopes this is just a fleeting moment for Ian.

“Since when does your pale Irish ass know how to dance to Latin music?”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Ian responds unabated.

“No fucking way, Ian. Not a chance in hell,” Mickey gets serious, wrenching his arms from Ian’s grasp and crossing them against his chest. He isn’t about to make a complete ass of himself, especially not with Miss Latin America out there heating up the dance floor like that for everyone to see.

“Pleeease Mick...” Ian drunkenly pouts, and even though Mickey’s traitorous mind finds it fucking adorable he refuses to cave on this.

“Fuck. No.” 

He immediately feels like shit when Ian’s shoulders slump and he sits dejectedly back down, this time keeping to himself on his own stool, but Mickey hardly knows what he can do about it. 

“You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, well...” Mickey belches and Ian makes a disgusted face, “get used to it.”

The energetic song fades into a slow jam, and Mickey starts to feel a little triumphant as the dance floor largely clears out. He’s a little happier too now that he’s dodged that particular bullet, especially since Little Miss So-You-Think-You-Can-Dance seems to have disappeared as well. He sneaks a glance at Ian, but his face is unreadable. Mickey isn't quite sure if the redhead is upset at him or not.

He is just about to say something reassuring to him when Ian suddenly gets up again, “I’m gonna go take a leak,” he states dispassionately, and without looking back at Mickey, he disappears into the milling crowd. 

A small frown sets on Mickey’s lip as he swivels back towards the bar. He rests his chin on one hand while the other lays to claim the stool next to him, “Sure, don’t mind me. I’ll just stay back here and watch our seats like a bitch,” he mutters broodily as the parched dancers start to crowd around him. 

Mickey sees their bartender from earlier approach his corner, her hands still in constant, furious motion concocting god knows what, while patrons near him start waving credit cards and cash in the air, vying for her attention. Mickey flashes irritable eyes at the mob as they get closer to him shouting out drink requests.

To Mickey’s surprise, before she gets to the orders, the mixologist quickly sets a pair of shot glasses down in front of Mickey, its milky white contents swirling invitingly. 

“For you and your man.” She sends a wink in his direction, “Happy anniversary.” 

Before Mickey even has a chance to say ‘thanks’ to her kind gesture, she’s off just as quick, making a drink for a guy at the end of the bar.

Curious as to what the drink might be, he picks up one of the little glasses and eyes it skeptically. He knows he should wait for Ian but shrugs and brings the drink to lips to take a tiny sip anyway. 

It’s incredibly sweet and spicy. Not a hot spicy though, more like… _cinnamon, maybe?_ It suddenly reminds him of Christmas and Mickey decides he likes it immensely. 

This whole unexpected exchange helps put Mickey back in a pleasant mood, and he strums his fingers against the dark wood of the bar waiting for Ian's return.

**_“Yeeeeeeaaah, baaaby”_ **

The music stirs up again and people excitedly make their way back to the dance floor. Mickey hears a familiar trilling of trumpets and piano keys before the beat drops and the iconic lyrics blast from the speakers.

**_“I like it like that..."_ **

Suddenly, arms close around his chest, squeezing tight and almost causing Mickey to spill his drink. He immediately recognizes the strong embrace and smiles. It looks like he’s being forgiven for earlier. 

Mickey pushes his shoulders back into Ian, indulging him, as he sways to the beat. 

Mickey can feel Ian’s hot breath close to his ear as he playfully mimics the rambunctious songstress, “They call me Cardi Bardi, banging body, spicy mami, hot tamale…”

Mickey gives a throaty chuckle at Ian’s rapping prowess and holds up the drink in his hand for Ian to taste. “Compliments of our bartender,” he gestures towards the matching shot still sitting on the counter. 

Ian releases him and Mickey turns toward him as he takes the small glass from his hand. Mickey does his best to hide his concern as Ian takes a slight sip. He is a little wary at their drink count tonight since it’s always a crapshoot how the alcohol is going to react with Ian’s meds. But so far the night has been going really well, dancing bullshit aside, and he knows the very last thing his husband would want right now is Mickey fussing over him. So he lets Ian be the judge.

“Mmmm! Love me some Rumchata.” _So that’s what this good shit is_ , Mickey muses as Ian hands him back the shot only a quarter empty. “You’re gonna have to take one for the team Mick, I’m tryna be a good boy tonight,” Ian smirks, nudging Mickey’s knees further apart so he can sidle up in between them, giving him a naughty look completely at odds with his statement. 

Mickey feels himself stir instantly at his nearness and it takes all his strength not to slide a hand up the back of Ian’s thigh. 

“Oh really? A good boy, huh?” he quirks an eyebrow, enjoying Ian’s flirty mood while downing the rest of the drink, the sweet and spicy concoction burning its way down his throat. He can feel the heavy bass of the hypnotic song reverberate through the air, further electrifying his senses. 

**_“I said I like it like that…”_ **

As he sets down the glass Mickey catches sight of a scarlet figure over Ian’s shoulder breaking through the crowd and heading straight towards them. Mickey immediately recognizes the bright red top and barely-there short shorts.

Little Miss Latin America herself cuts through everyone like a hot knife through butter and coolly reaches out a dainty hand to touch Ian’s shoulder, giving it a delicate tap. Mickey watches as confusion causes Ian’s brow to furrow and he turns towards the unexpected intruder. He sees Ian’s eyes light up in surprise as he realizes it’s the pretty young woman from the dance floor. 

She crooks a finger at him and Ian leans down towards her small frame so she can whisper something in his ear. Mickey’s eyebrows rise up on high alert as he waits for Ian to give her the brush off.

“You want to dance?” Ian repeats back her words, immediately confirming Mickey’s suspicions as she smiles prettily and nods her head. “Yeah, sure!” he responds without missing a beat, turning back to Mickey almost as an afterthought. “You don’t mind do you, Mick?” He could swear Ian was mocking him.

“What? The fuck I don-” Ian doesn’t wait for him to finish, the pretty girl is already leading him away. 

Mickey rises mindlessly from his stool as he watches Ian disappear into the crowd, completely stunned at the abrupt turn of events. _What in the fuck just happened?_

One second he was having an intimate moment with his husband, the next he's watching some busty chick drag Ian towards the dance floor. He tries playing it cool even as hot steam steadily builds up between his ears, shoving his hands into his pockets as a wave of emotions and impulsive ideas burn through him.

So some girl asked Ian to dance, _so what?_ No skin off his back, Ian can fucking dance with a girl. Who gives a shit? Not him, that’s who. 

Mickey’s inner thoughts continue to bombard him as he catches a glimpse of the pair and sees Ian place his hands on the little tart’s waist. 

_Better than some handsy faggot in Boystown tryna grab at Ian’s dick._

By some cruel cosmic joke the crowd on the dance floor parts for Ian and the little hussy, immediately giving the duo center stage. Ian has pulled her closer but he’s still just basically standing there, barely moving his hips, and Mickey snorts derisively, suddenly amused. _Maybe this isn’t so bad after all._ Ian will make a fool of himself, the girl will dance circles around him, and then he’ll have to come crawling back looking like a fucking idiot. _That’ll teach the fucker for ditching me_ , he thinks vindictively.

**_“I said, I like it like that…”_ **

The chorus beat drops again and Mickey’s mouth practically drops to the floor.

Ian skillfully twirls the pretty young thing effortlessly in tune to the beat as the pair begin an effortless salsa. Mickey watches on in disbelief as the seductress runs slender fingers through her curls, leaning against Ian as she gyrates with him. 

Mickey’s hands unconsciously curl into tight fists deep inside his pockets when he sees Ian’s wide hands slide over the girl’s wider curves as they both shake their hips in sync with each other. 

_Ooooh, so he thinks he’s hot shit, does he?_ Mickey shifts restlessly on his feet, pulling his hands free from his jeans and indignantly crossing his arms, his temper rising by the second.

**_“Oh he’s so handsome, what’s his name?”_ **

The little flirt spins around again in front of Ian while giving him a provocative little cha-cha that Ian reciprocates in kind. Her sneaky hands press slyly against the front of Ian’s shirt, and Mickey desperately cranes his neck to try and catch sight of what she’s doing next before another dancing couple blocks his view. 

When they finally move out of the way, Mickey sees that Ian has his shirt completely unbuttoned, exposing his gray tank top underneath. The heat of the dance floor and the furious pace Ian is keeping causes the damp fabric to cling to his chest and his abs, outlining every sinewy muscle.

_What fresh hell is this now?_

As if that wasn’t enough, Mickey can just make out the fucking hussy running her perfectly manicured claws up the length of Ian’s torso. His eyes quickly flick up to Ian’s face, looking for his reaction, waiting for a rebuff. Nothing.

_The fucker is almost encouraging it!_

She presses closer into him as they dance even more intimately, Ian’s hands once again trailing up her sides while her hands rub against his pecs as she writhes against him, her head tilting just a little bit towards Ian’s face.

“Oh fuck this shit!” Mickey grabs the last shot behind him, downs it completely, and slams the glass back on the bar top before roughly shouldering his way onto the dance floor. 

Mickey’s fury is on autopilot as he pushes through a flock of dancers before finally reaching his target. Without thinking he pulls Ian back and places himself right in between the handsy bitch and his man, startling the both of them as he unleashes a look upon her that has made grown South Side men piss themselves.

Without saying a word, Mickey raises his left hand in front of her face and points obnoxiously to his wedding ring with his other. He doesn’t have to say anything, his message is loud and clear: BACK OFF, BITCH.

The girl actually has the balls to grin at him before gracefully turning on her heel and sauntering away. Mickey watches after her for a few seconds as she disappears into the crowd, his chest heaving, before he spins on Ian. 

“And as for you…” Mickey yells loudly over the music as he stabs a finger at Ian’s chest, “you fucking leave me–” But Mickey’s words fail him before he can even properly build up steam because Ian suddenly grabs that same hand and tugs hard at him.

“What took you so long?” Ian gives him a scorching look as he falls into his arms.

“Wuh?” Mickey mutters utterly confused. 

Ian cocks his head to the side as his gaze drifts to someone over Mickey’s shoulders, and he watches dumbstruck as Ian mouths a silent ‘thank you’ to someone behind him. 

Mickey whips his head around to catch the mystery person and spots the same bitch he just got rid of not ten feet away, dancing next to a group of what Mickey assumes to be her girlfriends. She flashes them a dazzling smile as she wiggles her fingers at Mickey in a friendly little wave.

Mickey snaps his head back to Ian disbelievingly, and tries taking a small step back before Ian prevents him. “What the fuck just happened?"

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Ian says slyly to him as he locks his hands around Mickey's shoulder. A new song begins and Ian attempts to coax a little dance out him.

“No fucking way. You set me up?!”

Ian lowers his head and noses at Mickey’s cheek, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to his ear. “Mhhhmmmmm,” Ian murmurs against him. “I met Gabriella on my way to the bathroom. Told her all about my mean ol’ husband who wouldn’t dance with me on our anniversary.” 

“Oh, fucking Gabriella is it?” Mickey shoves at his chest, reclaiming barely an inch of space between them. “You sneaky lil’ bitch…” he huffs, his eyes narrowing at Ian.

“Thankfully, my husband gets really jealous.” Ian stares pointedly at him as Mickey flushes red. Fucker has him pegged, what can he say? But Mickey also knows when he’s beat. He relaxes a little and Ian seems to notice right away. “Come on, Mickey, dance with me,” he petitions again as he pulls him closer, this time placing his hands on Mickey’s waist and moving him with him. 

At this point, there’s no going back, Mickey thinks. In fact he’ll probably just draw more attention to himself if he’s the only fool out here who _isn’t_ dancing. Luckily for him another popular song he actually knows is playing, and Mickey doesn’t feel quite so awkward applying his usual dance moves as he slowly comes around. 

“This isn’t over, you know,” he protests weakly to Ian as he eventually finds his groove. Ian ignores him completely, instead reveling in his victory by caressing Mickey wherever he can as they move together beneath the white string lights crisscrossing high above the dance floor. Mickey feels himself beginning to crack as he moves more easily against Ian’s familiar body until finally tipping his head back slightly and just giving in to the music completely.

They eventually wind down as a light strumming guitar replaces the bumping bass of the dance song. Mickey notices how the mood completely shifts around them as couples partner up for the slower melodic salsa. 

Well, he did it. And it wasn’t actually half bad, he thinks. Plus now Ian can’t bitch to the rest of the family about how he spoiled their night by not dancing. He looks up to Ian, their bodies still very close to one another. Mickey feels a sudden overwhelming urge to kiss the dumb gorgeous fuck but he hesitates, and instead takes a step back to head off the floor

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ian purrs to him as his hand snakes back around Mickey.

“Don’t get cute,” he scoffs as the hand travels to the small of his back pressing him in so that Mickey’s body actually makes contact with Ian’s damp tank top through his open shirt. “You got to be fucking kidding me.” He slightly panics as he looks up into Ian’s deadly serious eyes, “Ian, what the fuck? I can’t dance to this shit.”

Ian’s free hand grasps his own and guides it to his lips. The soft kiss Ian leaves on his tattooed knuckles sends shivers throughout his entire body, and before Mickey can even come back to his senses Ian has extended their joined hands out to the side. The pose mimics several couples around them and Mickey gulps audibly at the realization.

Likely sensing his apprehension, Ian leans forward so that their foreheads meet, making sure he has all of Mickey’s attention. And it works. He can’t help but be mesmerized as he meets those wide, luminous green eyes before him, as Ian’s low, soothing voice does the rest. 

“Hey, you trust me, right?” the tip of Ian’s nose brushing briefly against his as he breathes the words against his lips.

Mickey’s mind goes momentarily blank before he finally surrenders himself to Ian and all of his coaxing.

“Yes,” he breathes back, just barely nodding his head in accession.

Suddenly Mickey feels a thigh move smoothly between his legs and the fingers at the small of his back press into him, guiding him like a puppet on strings. Ian slowly thrusts the side of his hip into him and Mickey’s body immediately responds by yielding to it. He repeats the move on the other side with similar success on Mickey’s part.

“There you go,” Ian whispers softly to him, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the hypnotic guitar strums of the song, “Just let me lead you.” His knee brushes up against the inside of Mickey's thigh, aiding him in the repetitive quick-quick-slow pattern of the dance. 

The feeling of it all is so foreign to Mickey, yet so inherently sensual, that it makes him break out in goosebumps even in the sweltering heat of the dance floor. Just the feel of Ian’s thighs against his, the closeness of his body, the earthy smell of Ian’s sweat glistening on his flushed skin as he deftly guides them across the dance floor is all so fucking erotic to him. He is completely under Ian’s power, his body has completely surrendered to him, and it feels unexpectedly exhilarating. He doesn’t care about the other people in the club, the looks they are probably receiving – he’s forgotten all of it. It’s just about them now.

Mickey starts to get a feel for the tempo and begins to voluntarily sway his hips with Ian, anticipating his moves. Ian seems to sense Mickey’s newfound confidence and begins to pick up the pace, their bodies moving in tandem barely a hair’s width apart. 

Without missing a beat, Ian pulls in their outstretched hands and expertly maneuvers Mickey through a half spin so that Ian’s arms are now wrapped around Mickey’s waist, Mickey’s ass now pressing firmly back against Ian’s groin. _Smooth_ , Mickey thinks with a lascivious smirk. _Very smooth_. He savors the intimate connection between them and finds himself greedily pressing deeper into Ian as they sway together to the beat. 

He has to bite back a groan as Ian’s hand slides along the sliver of exposed skin above the top of Mickey’s jeans where his t-shirt has hitched up. He is almost certain he can feel a hardness forming against his ass and his breathing stutters as his eyes fall closed, the thought suddenly arousing him like no other. Before he can be sure, however, his eyes are flying back open as Ian completes the turn the other way around, breaking their connection briefly until they’re back to their original position.

The song comes to an end a moment later and Mickey is panting a little harder than usual in Ian’s embrace. He can likewise feel Ian’s hitching breath coming in waves across his face as their foreheads press together once more.

“How in the hell, Ian?”

“I’ve been taking a few lessons from my friend. Wanted it to be a surprise for our anniversary,” he manages. “Just needed a little liquid courage first and a way to get you out on the dance floor.” 

“Jesus…”

“I knew you’d be a stubborn fuck but–” 

This time it’s Mickey’s turn to cut him off. He forgets his earlier hesitation and silences Ian with a searing kiss, his hands cupping Ian’s rough jawline as he languidly pulls him in closer. 

“It was perfect,” Mickey declares a minute later when they break apart, lips ghosting over Ian’s smile. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

And surprising even himself, Mickey begins to lead Ian into the next dance.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout out to Sam @lilmilkymademe for proofreading and mentioning some wonderful juicy little tidbits. You're the best!
> 
> Also, huge inspiration came from Cardi B's music video "I Like it". If you want an idea how I imagined the bar and club, just pop over to YouTube and watch her official music video.


End file.
